


Hotspur

by Scrunyuns



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Mild Power Play, Oral Sex, PURE FUCKIN PORN, PWP, Period-Typical Homophobia, abel (upon his proofreading) called this fic ‘fetid’ and that’s exactly the feel I was going for tbh, hickey-typical assholery, rat boy is basically cruising, this fic gives new meaning to the term ‘lardass’, tozer thinks being a top is the same as being a dom. it ain’t, vague mentions of past torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-28 12:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19812055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunyuns/pseuds/Scrunyuns
Summary: Hickey stumbles upon Sergeant Tozer at Carnivale. He may or may not have planned this ahead of time.





	Hotspur

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this little porn piece for my lovely pal Abel, who was kind enough to proofread it for me before I posted it on here. Thanks again, friend! <3
> 
> This was based on a prompt that I had proposed to the amazing artist Dozer (littledozerbaby here on AO3 and @littledozerdraws on tumblr) when we were doing a fanwork exchange, for which they made some of the hottest Hickey/Tozer fanart I’ve ever laid eyes on. God bless~

Sergeant Tozer is outside relieving himself when Cornelius Hickey first comes upon him. The caulker’s mate rounds the corner of the tent and when he spots the marine, he stops dead in his tracks.

“Oh. My apologies, Sergeant.”

Turning on his heel, Hickey heads to the other side of the entrance so as to give the man his privacy. But as he walks away he sneaks a glance over his shoulder - and it certainly isn’t Tozer’s _face_ he is looking at.

Whether or not that was supposed to be at all subtle is impossible to say.

Shaking his head, Tozer finishes up, tucks himself back into his trousers, and heads back inside the tent.

The sergeant only gets about as far as the makeshift cloakroom. Something is holding him back; something intangible, a strange new notion. It is something he’d rather not acknowledge - and yet, it firmly grounds him there, as though he’s suddenly got great big bolts through his feet.

Soon the tent flap opens, and in walks Hickey, his cheeks reddened by the blistering cold. When he sees the marine standing there, his mouth forms into a tiny smile.

“Were you waiting for me, Sergeant?”

While his words are vaguely apprehensive, the look on his face is nothing of the sort. More than anything, he looks amused.

“Waiting? For you?” Tozer scoffs. “No.”

“Who are you waiting for, then?”

“No one. Do I have to be waiting for someone?”

Hickey raises an eyebrow.

“It’s baking in there,” Tozer explains. “I need some air.”

With his arms crossed over his chest, Hickey slowly strides towards him.

“And a respite from looking after Private Heather, I take it?”

“It’s not- he’s a marine. A brother. It’s no trouble.”

“You’re quite the selfless man, Sergeant.” Hickey cocks his head to the side. “And dutiful.”

Tozer mishears Hickey’s last words, and he instinctively takes a couple steps back. Mere seconds later he realizes his mistake, but that doesn’t stop his heart from racing.

“It’s quite admirable, really,” Hickey says, still slowly approaching.

His words are uncharacteristically solemn. For once he sounds serious - sincere, even.

Hickey, once within Tozer’s reach, brings a hand up to the sergeant’s crown.

“I like your costume.”

Tozer doesn’t quite know how to respond. There is something unsettling about this, being in such close proximity to Hickey. It’s odd; this never used to make him nervous. But now, after his lashing, the little Irishman suddenly looms so much larger. Such an event shouldn’t have afforded him the sergeant’s respect - it was intended to be humiliating rather than redeeming, a brutal reminder for him and the rest of the men to keep their toes firmly behind the line - but for Tozer, it never had the intended effect. He suspects it hadn’t for Hickey, either.

“Thank you,” Tozer finally manages.

“King Solomon,” Hickey reflects, an oddly appealing smirk forming across his face.

“I’m not a king.”

“What are you supposed to be, then?”

He peers down at the sigil on the front of Tozer’s tunic, looking slightly perplexed. The dark blue lions on a field of yellow do not seem to be ringing any bells for him.

“I’m a knight,” Tozer explains.

Hickey hums in approval, as if he thinks it fitting for a man like Tozer. Reaching out, he gingerly touches the fabric of the sigil. The sergeant’s heart skips a beat.

“Harry Hotspur,” Tozer continues, his words suddenly catching in his dry mouth. “He- er, he led the rebellion. Against Henry IV.”

Hickey’s eyes widen ever so slightly at this, and the sergeant can see in them the gleaming of a certain budding understanding.

“I like it,” he finally says, tilting his head up to look up at Tozer. “Although I must say... ‘tis most a shame, covering up your fine uniform like that.”

Hickey’s voice is soft, subdued, but the look in eyes is all fire. His hand still rests against Tozer’s thumping chest. No doubt he can feel the sergeant's heart.

“The cut really compliments your figure,” Hickey adds, allowing his right hand to slip down, caressing Tozer’s side. “And red is most certainly your color.”

Thoroughly flustered now, starting to turn a shade of scarlet that could easily rival that of his uniform, Sergeant Tozer clears his throat and tries to stand up straighter.

“Who are you supposed to be then?” He attempts idle conversation in order to break the tension. “Just some fancy gentleman, or..?”

As Tozer tries to take his mind off of what he now knows lies beneath the dark, fine fabric of that three-piece - the supple, freckled flesh that was not that long ago laid on display for the whole ship to see - Hickey laughs softly.

“Oh, I am no gentleman.”

And just like that, he demonstrates the truth of his words by allowing a dainty hand to cup the bulge at the front of Sergeant Tozer’s trousers.

The sergeant lets out a shocked gasp, but he does not pull back. Instead he starts to grow hard beneath that warm hand as Hickey leans in, licking his lips.

“You were waiting for me,” Hickey murmurs into Tozer’s ear. “Be honest, now.”

“Yes,” Tozer replies, breathless.

“How considerate.”

The little bastard smiles again, a small yet decidedly conspiratory grin that has the sergeant going weak in the knees. And then he rises to his tiptoes, planting a kiss on Tozer’s waiting lips.

It starts out innocent enough, but Hickey soon has him opening his mouth to let a soft pink tongue slip inside. The sergeant can’t think, he forgets how to breathe; his body seems to act of its own volition, grabbing Hickey by the waist and the back of his neck, pulling him close.

When the little seducer finally breaks away from him, the separation is most unwelcome.

“Let us find somewhere less open. Yes?”

They manage to find a small nook between some crates; claustrophobic and dimly lit, but suitable to their needs. The sergeant cannot see how anyone would or could stumble upon them here, but the thought of it still nags him. More than that, however, it _excites_ him. He can feel himself growing harder.

“I’ve never done this before,” Tozer whispers as Hickey gets to work on the buttons of his trousers. “With a man, I mean.”

Hickey gives him a quick glance that might suggest he does not believe him.

“I swear it!” the sergeant insists.

The little imp halts his labor for a moment to look Tozer in the eye. His chin tilted up, eyes smiling along with the smug upturn of his wicked mouth, he is now looking awfully satisfied with himself.

“Your first, am I?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I wouldn’t worry myself too much if I were you, Sergeant,” Hickey says as he resumes his work. “I’ve got experience enough for the both of us.”

Unbidden thoughts arise at that, a crashing wave of filth; the idea of Hickey with another man - _many_ other men, in narrow alleyways and steamy bathhouses and down on the docks at night, on his knees, on his back, bent over a table, sucking, fucking, being fucked by men young and old, being fucked in the ass and the mouth at the same time, being used by so many men - it is simultaneously exciting and infuriating. Tozer wants to know everything, and yet at the same time he wants to hear nothing of it.

His heart aches alongside his flesh.

When Hickey finally reaches into Tozer’s open trousers and pulls out his fat, hard cock, the sergeant’s mouth betrays him; a deep, guttural moan escapes. Hickey’s experienced hands have shaken his equilibrium, and he is forced to brace himself against a nearby crate.

Wrapping his nimble little fingers around the base of Tozer’s cock, the caulker’s mate hums his approval, and the sergeant fears he might come right there on the spot.

But then, just when he thinks it couldn’t possibly get any worse for him, Hickey sinks to his knees.

“Do you think I’ll be able to fit it all in my mouth?” he whispers.

Those pale blue eyes peer up at the sergeant from under thick, soft lashes and a worried brow, and Hickey looks as if he is getting ready for Godly worship. It is a vicious mockery of innocence.

Tozer thinks he may never have been so hard in his life.

When no coherent response comes, Hickey leans forward and buries his nose deep in the brown curls at the base of Tozer’s cock. Eyes closed, he inhales, moaning softly. The young sergeant feels about ready to lose his mind.

When a wet, warm tongue comes out to lap at his balls, Tozer finally finds his voice.

“Stop.”

Hickey pulls back immediately, looking up at him with a puzzled frown, but his hand won’t release him just yet.

“Yes?”

Hickey looks worried, as if he’s afraid that one wrong move might dissuade the sergeant, that he might cut the whole thing short. Tozer reckons he should; it is unprofessional, it is unmanly, it is unchristian, what they are doing. And if you were to ask him a month ago which of the Terror’s crew he thought he might conceivably have such an unprofessional, unmanly, unchristian liaison with, it certainly wouldn’t have been _Cornelius Hickey_ , of all people.

And yet, there is still that intangible tether again, keeping him rooted firmly in place. There is something about Hickey, he now realizes, a strange pull. He cannot deny it. He cannot deny himself.

“I’m going to spend,” Tozer says.

“Just from that?” Hickey asks, eyes blinking and a bit of a laugh hidden in his words. “You truly are an innocent.”

“It’s been a long time, I- what you’re doing is so…” Tozer has to pause for breath. “So very good. And if you continue, if you take me in your mouth... I’ll come.”

“So come, then,” Hickey shrugs.

“But- what about you?”

“What about me?”

The caulker’s mate is still on his knees, but his face is defiant. This has become a standoff now; it is a test more than anything. Tozer is forced to double down.

“Let me suck you.”

Hickey scoffs at that, his eyebrows leaping halfway up his forehead.

“You wouldn’t know how.”

“I know what _I_ like,” Tozer protests. “We both have cocks, don’t we? Can’t be that hard to suss out.”

Hickey shrugs again and gets up off his knees, brushing flecks of snow from his trouser legs.

“Alright, then,” he says. “Get to work.”

The sergeant assumes the position with a proud, stern face, but his hands tremble at the front of Hickey’s trousers.

“Take your time, love,” comes the condescending order from above.

When he springs Hickey’s cock from the confinement of his trousers, he is surprised not by the length - that was very much as expected - but by his girth. That cock is like the man himself: not very long, but fairly solid. A nice thick mouthful. He worries his mouth won’t fit around it.

It reminds him of when he’d first seen Hickey’s naked body; the jarring realization that the infuriating little rat had, in fact, rather a decent build.

He had taken himself in hand that evening, ignoring the lingering images of a bloody backside torn open by the whip, and instead focusing on what he had seen _before_ the lashing had started; a tight little body with a pert arse, bent over a slab, so vulnerable...

His mind had also strayed to the image of Hickey finally being let up off that slab, all sweaty and teary-eyed, a look of absolute rapture settling across his face as he was at last released from his torture.

Tozer had imagined having him on his back, Hickey making that delicious expression as the sergeant entered him.

Wracked with guilt, he had spoken with Lieutenant Irving the next day. He had given no details, only a vague notion of “impure thoughts”, but it had still earned him a barely contained look of disgust from the lieutenant. Irving had suggested fully devoting himself to the task of looking after Private Heather, as a way of distracting himself while also “finding God in the act of helping the sick and the wounded”.

It had only helped a little; a mere three days later Tozer had once again found himself with his hand down his trousers, vivid images of Hickey in his mind.

Sometimes he would even watch the caulker’s mate from across the room as they all retreated to their hammocks for the night, watching him dress down to his long underclothes, and he had secretly wished that Hickey would just take it all off.

“Enjoying the view?” Hickey asks, that soft Northern lilt of his breaking clean through the noise of the sergeant’s mind.

“Yes,” answers Tozer, licking his lips.

His own cock is still hanging out of his pants, softer now that he doesn’t have Hickey’s deft hands to warm it, but still leaking with excitement.

“So am I,” Hickey says, his right hand reaching out to stroke Tozer’s face. “You’re looking rather lovely on your knees, Solomon.”

The sound of his given name on Hickey’s lips is music to his ears. Tozer takes the cock in his mouth, and Hickey creates more sweet music with his soft pink mouth.

Remembering what a doxy had once done to him with her tongue - a swiping, swirling motion around the head of his cock - Tozer tries to replicate the action. He has not the faintest idea of whether or not it is at all pleasurable for Hickey, but if those moans are anything to go by, he must be doing something right.

Or perhaps they are meant to manipulate him; he can feel his own cock jumping at the sound of them.

Those moans truly are the Devil’s work.

The sergeant’s cock is fully hard as Hickey’s fingers thread through his messy brown curls, his hips starting to gyrate, almost choking Tozer with his length.

“Good lad,” he murmurs through his moans. “Just watch the teeth there…”

Hickey sounds so sweet and desperate in his breathlessness, the low keening sound from the back of his throat sending more blood to Tozer’s aching, neglected cock. The sergeant reaches out with his free hand to touch himself, but Hickey’s hand tightens in his hair and yanks his head back to look him in the eye.

“No touching yourself.”

So it’s like that, then.

All Tozer can do is give a quick nod before his face is thrust back onto that cock. The sergeant does not touch himself again.

He’ll allow the little bastard to maintain control for a little while longer.

When the lovely noises spilling from Hickey’s lips start to sound too much like someone hurtling towards the edge of their climax, Tozer stops.

Hickey is flushed and breathless when the sergeant stands up and kisses him roughly.

“Enough of that,” Tozer declares. “Turn around. I want to have you now.”

Hickey’s response is an incredulous, breathy laugh.

“You’ll spend your load as soon as you enter,” he mocks. 

“Perhaps.”

Sergeant Tozer, driven now by a singular purpose, grabs the little seducer by the hips and spins him around. He tears Hickey’s coat off his shoulders and flings it to the side before roughly yanking his pants down to his knees.

“Alright, easy,” Hickey says. “Why the sudden touch of rough, Sergeant?”

“It’s what you deserve,” Tozer explains, “for seducing me.”

Hickey turns to look him in the eye, a strangely wounded expression on his face.

“I didn’t have to seduce you, Sergeant. When I decided to fuck you, you had already been entertaining the thought for some time.”

Tozer doesn’t like the way this man reads him like an open book. He doesn’t like it one bit.

“Quiet, damn you. Turn around.”

Hickey makes no further protest, but he doesn’t give his explicit consent, either. And Tozer - ever the gentleman, even in the face of this unfettered desire - is struck with the need to ask permission before he goes any further.

“May I?” is his tentative request.

Hickey snickers under his breath.

“Don’t spoil the mood now, sergeant.”

“Just wanted to make certain.”

“When I would like you to stop, you’ll know it.”

“I’ll be gentle,” Tozer whispers into Hickey’s ear, a reassurance that may be more for his own sake.

He cannot see the caulker’s mate rolling his eyes.

“You’d like to be gentle?” Hickey asks. “Grab my coat. Search the pockets.”

Perplexed, Tozer releases him and reaches for Hickey’s discarded coat.

“There’s nothing in here,” he says, his hand rummaging around in the left hand pocket.

“The other one,” Hickey sighs.

Tozer’s hand soon finds a small tin snuff box. He opens it; inside is nothing but a glob of lard, probably stolen from the pantry.

“Something to ease the way,” Hickey says.

Tozer is slightly taken aback; it’s not the first time he’s heard of a desperate sailor sneaking off with something from the pantry, but usually that something would be intended for oral consumption. 

“You’ve certainly come prepared.”

“I wouldn’t be much of a naval serviceman, would I, if I was not in the habit of coming prepared.”

Sergeant Tozer doesn’t want to think about the implications of this; had Hickey planned to fuck someone this evening? Was that someone him, or somebody else? If so, who? Could it have been just anyone? Would Hickey lay down with anyone who would show him the slightest bit of attention?

Shaking the myriad of possibilities from his mind, he dips couple of fingers in, getting a nice thick glob of lard on his fingertips. He rubs the slick animal fat onto that sweet pink pucker, then tentatively works one finger inside.

Hickey braces himself against the crate with a stifled groan, and Tozer can’t tell if it is pain or pleasure. But when he hears no word of protest, he adds another finger. It pulls him in.

“By God, you are tight,” Tozer marvels, feeling his own cock twitch in anticipation.

“I don’t normally take this position.” 

This comes as somewhat of a surprise to the sergeant, but he has the wherewithal to not say this out loud.

Hickey’s voice is strained now, as if he’s half holding his breath. Tozer doesn’t quite know what to say; he feels as though he owes the man his thanks, but in this moment a “thank you” seems in poor taste. Probably best to just stay quiet and keep at it.

When he looks down, he can’t help but notice the thick, criss-crossing stripes of pink and puffy skin scattered across Hickey’s pale backside. It’s been weeks now, but they still look rather painful. Tozer reaches out to caress them, hoping to perhaps provide some small comfort, but Hickey stops him as soon as he feels fingertips against that tender flesh.

“Don’t.”

Disappointed and ashamed, the sergeant decides to simply focus on the task at hand.

When Tozer’s finger hits something inside of him - a muscle or gland of some sort, roughly the size of a walnut - Hickey trembles. 

“Again,” he gasps.

Tozer does as ordered, rubbing his fingers over that mysterious, sensitive spot again, massaging it softly. Hickey’s body tenses up, his legs starting to shake.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” the sergeant asks, stroking Hickey’s sides.

The little Irishman only shakes his head and reaches down to stroke his cock, but Tozer grabs his hand and wrestles it behind his back.

“No touching yourself.”

“Bastard,” Hickey spits, sickened by the taste of his own medicine.

He quickly changes his tune when the sergeant adds another finger, filling him up.

“Oh god,” he whispers as he starts moving his hips, fucking himself on Tozer’s fingers.

“I don’t normally take this position,” Tozer says, parroting his lover’s words from earlier. “You seem to be very quick to adjust, Mr. Hickey.”

“I’m adaptable. Now, if you’re going to fuck me, just fuck me.”

Tozer releases his arm so he can reach down for Hickey’s cock.

“Aren’t you worried that I might come as soon as enter?”

“I don’t give a damn.”

Tozer rubs a single finger against the slick head of Hickey’s aching cock, now dripping with anticipation.

The spirit of a devil comes over him in that moment.

“Say ‘please, Sergeant’.”

“Please, Sergeant, you absolute pillock,” Hickey bites back through gritted teeth. “Or I’ll end this right now and you will never touch this arse again in your life, I swear it.”

“As you wish,” Tozer laughs, giving the soft spot behind his lover’s right ear a small kiss.

He’s an insubordinate little bastard, that Hickey, and Tozer feels he should really be giving him hell for it. But the prospect of a repeated session has put the sergeant in a forgiving mood.

Tozer spits in his hand, coating his cock with it before pulling out his fingers - slowly, so as to not hurt his lover - and lines himself up for entry.

He hesitates for a moment. For all his bravado, he knows that Hickey is right; he will come as soon as he feels that wet, warm arse clenching around his cock.

And so, as he pushes in, he carefully trains his mind to keep his thoughts on foul and terrible things; David Young spewing blood across the table. Heather with half his skull missing, a living corpse. The grotesque puzzle that the beast had left for them on deck, making a message of warning out of poor Strong and - who was the other fellow, the bottom half? He must have forgotten. There had been too many horrors of late, too many deaths, details like that were starting to get lost in the sea of madness.

Hickey lets out a low moan, a surprisingly soft and lovely sound, and Tozer is immediately brought back to the here and now.

“Touch me,” Hickey gasps, hot and pliable now. “Please, Sergeant.”

The sergeant obliges, excited at the change in Hickey’s tune, and the tip of his right index finger finds the head of his lover’s cock. While angling his hips just so, hoping to relocate that spot within Hickey that had made him gasp and tremble, he rubs his fingertip over the slit, spreading slick precome over the head.

Hickey whimpers; it is not enough, nothing but cruel teasing, and Tozer can tell that he absolutely hates it.

“Stop fucking about,” Hickey groans between labored breaths.

Not so pliable after all, then.

“What do you want, love?” the sergeant asks, his nose nuzzling the shell of Hickey’s ear.

“Don’t be ignorant.”

Fair enough.

Tozer does as he’s told: engulfing Hickey’s cock with his large fist, he starts pumping. His hips are matching the pace of his hand, pistoning in and out of that sweet, tight hole.

His lover gasps and moans so beautifully. Tozer cannot keep from burying his face into the crook of his neck, taking in that musky scent of his while letting his free arm wrap around Hickey’s lean, toned chest. The sergeant inhales deeply, and he realizes that he won’t be able to hold out for much longer.

When he stops moving, Hickey is _livid_.

“Why’d you stop?”

“Please… I need a moment.”

“Pathetic,” Hickey mutters under his breath.

Tozer is sure that he meant for him to hear it, but he’s too lost now to let the humiliation stifle his desire; his foggy mind can only focus on Hickey’s warm body, his smell, the salty taste of his soft, pale skin.

And as for Hickey, the little bastard shows no mercy. Unsatisfied, his hand reaches down and grabs Tozer’s, guiding it up and down his length. And to make matters worse he pushes back, grinding his arse down on the sergeant’s cock.

It’s too good, far too good.

“Wait, wait,” Tozer says, but he doesn’t push Hickey away. “I’ll spend-“

“Good. Do it.”

When the sergeant finally comes, it is with a strangled cry. For a few precious seconds there is nothing in Tozer’s world but Cornelius Hickey, and the sergeant holds him as tight as he can. A wave of ecstasy wracks his body, virtually shakes the ground below his feet.

He is so thoroughly lost, that when Hickey’s given name slips from his mouth without his permission, Tozer barely notices.

Grabbing Hickey by the chin and turning his face to the side, Tozer rides out the last of his orgasm on the high note of a deep kiss. He can feel the smug grin on his lover’s lips, and his cock is starting to hurt, but the sergeant is determined; he keeps pumping Hickey’s cock, keeps fucking and kissing him until that insufferable grin turns into a wide open mouth, desperate moans spilling out, and he can feel something wet and sticky coating his hand.

Tozer keeps fucking him until Hickey begs him to stop.

Breathing heavily, the little imp quickly disentangles himself from the sergeant and turns to face him, running a hand through his sweat-soaked ginger locks.

“Well,” he says, breath still heavy as he pulls up his trousers, “I win.”

“You win?” Tozer has to laugh. “What is it that you’ve you won, exactly?”

As Hickey dons his coat, he offers nothing more than another one of his nonchalant shrugs and a boyish, sideways smile.

“We shall have to have a rematch sometime, then,” Tozer says, licking his lips. “I’m a sore loser, you see.”

Hickey hums.

“Perhaps we will.”

“Perhaps?”

“Perhaps.”

The roguish little man moves towards him again, and for just a moment it seems to Tozer that he is coming in for a kiss. The sergeant leans into it - but instead of kissing him, Hickey brushes past and leaves him there, wanting.

“Sergeant,” he says with a nod, suddenly all formality.

The little shit even has the audacity to give a lazy salute before slipping through the opening in the canvas.

Once more, Tozer can feel himself going red as his tails.


End file.
